


Chick Fight!

by Sintina



Series: Between Movies [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Chick Fight!, F/M, Sparring, Spectators, Strength Serum, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against Vegeta's wishes, Bulma's made a strength serum. Time to pick a fight with the women of DB to flex her new muscles! </p><p>While the guys train and spar in preparation for their next mysterious enemy, the women of DB want a piece of the action. Follows The After Party, but don't have to read that to enjoy the girls pummeling one another! </p><p>Between Movies= after Battle of the Gods and before Revival of F.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Serum Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could Bulma _not_ make an experimental serum? Just because Vegeta told her not to?

Trunks and Goten woke up way too early, seemingly two hours after Bulma and Vegeta fell asleep. It was beyond headache inducing. Bulma's parents weren't up yet to entertain, so the boys lingered and giggled, pretending they were stealthy, outside Bulma and Vegeta's door. 

"Ugghahnnnn..." Bulma ached with exhaustion. Thanks to Vegeta's life-saving water reminder in the kitchen the night before, she wasn't hung-over. But she definitely hadn't slept enough. "Please," she tugged on her husband's shoulder, "please don't make me go out there..."

Vegeta grouched sounds rather than words in response and rose from the bed with filicide in his shining eyes. When he opened the door and looked down at the two of them, barefoot and crossed-legged on the floor, a scattering of toys and cards littered for adults to trip over, the boys did not miss their deaths on his face. They cowered, expecting him to order them to go train. Instead:

"Pick up all this crap and carry it down to the basement to play with your mother's guests. Many are still here."

Trunks' face lit up and he began gathering an armful of things. "Thanks dad!" 

"What if they don't want to play either?" Goten pouted. 

"They will entertain you or suffer the consequences." With that, Vegeta shut the door.

"Thank you, oh my gosh, thank you," Bulma moaned, covering her face from the retched rising sun with a pillow. 

Vegeta fell down beside her like dead weight. "Next year, we're taking a private vacation for your birthday.”

"Amen!" she muffled.

They got another hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep when Bunny Briefs' feather-light raps on their door broke the silence. She was a somewhat welcome intrusion as she brought a hover-tray of steaming breakfast plates. Meats, eggs, pastries, fruit, toasts, pancakes piled high, Bulma's mom knew how to please. She was well practiced in the amount of food it took to feed two of her most favorite people after a night of hard partying. 

"Look at the two of you!" she cooed, entering the room unbidden, "Don't you look a fright! Here, eat, eat, eat!" 

Vegeta remained face down in his pillow, but Bulma half-rose and cracked a bleary grin of gratitude "Aw, mom, sure. Of course. Thanks." Awaking at the smell of the sumptuous offering, "how are the boys? Are they giving you any trouble?" 

"Heavens no!" Bunny waved her hand, "little angels as always!" But she turned on her way out the door: "Get up soon, though, your father and I will be leaving for the day and you don't want them destroying half the house, unsupervised, dear." With that, she was gone. 

Vegeta rolled over and reached for a plate full of bacon and sausage. "Kakkarot will be here soon. I'll take the boys with us to the desert." 

"I don't know,” Bulma sighed, buttering toast, “even training with you guys, do they stand a chance against this new enemy in Goku's premonition?" 

Vegeta’s mouth was full: "I don't care about Kakkarot's ridiculous dreams anymore,” he swallowed loudly, rising from the bed and heading to the dresser for clothes, “Regardless, Trunks has been lax in his training of late."

Bulma rolled her eyes. She thought all Trunks ever did was train, play video games, eat and sleep. "Okay, fine. I guess it'll be very quiet around here, today." Could it be true? A whole day alone?! Bulma drank long swallows of milk, as the toast was too dry and scratchy in her mouth. She had to hide her enthusiasm or he'd know she was scheming.

Vegeta dressed in his white pants and blue-black tank, hugging every inch of him, noticed her reaction and chided: "Don't wait up." 

Bulma hid her exasperation with a “pfft” and raising her chin with closed eyes away from him, in her haughty voice: “After last night, you better be sated for the week, mister!””

Vegeta stood right in front of her. She hadn’t heard or felt him move. He bent down, his lips just above hers: “I’m not the insatiable one.”

She smirked, leaned up and pecked his lips in farewell: “Get out of here!” shooing him with another slice of toast. 

When Vegeta found the boys, parked in front of two-player co-op Minecraft surrounded by empty plates and platters from Bunny’s massive breakfast, he demanded they go train in the gravity chamber until such time as Goku was ready to meet them all in the desert. He’d be there shortly to join them.

Trunks looked up at him, with the smile of a kid at Christmas: “Is something happening, Dad?” the spark of barbarism in his eyes sent a flicker of pride down Vegeta’s spine, “do you think that guy from yesterday is coming back?”

“Man!” Goten moaned “I hope not! He hit way too hard. We got beat bad!”

“Don’t you want to hit him back next time?!” Trunks’ excitement grew the more he imagined it.

Vegeta pointed toward the gravity chamber. “Just do as I say, both of you.”

The two demi-Saiyans took to the air and raced each other to their destination. Vegeta ordered a cleaner bot to gather all the dishes from the floor of the den. He scanned downstairs to make sure all the leftover guests were out of the house for good, thanked Bunny for the breakfast when he passed her, and launched himself in the air towards the gravity chamber. He landed outside the door and listened. Ki blasts ricocheted off the walls and both demi-Saiyans could be heard shouting an exaggerated “hyah!” over and over. Smiling in spite of himself, Vegeta enjoyed the savagery of these children. He forced his composure before opening the door to join them.

Bulma emerged downstairs just as her mother and father were leaving.

“Good morning, sweetie!” Bunny chirped.

“Have a great day, Mom! Dad, do we still have some of my blood and Trunks’ blood out in the med bay cold storage?”

Dr. Briefs was no fool. One of his bushy eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Yes, I think so. It’s just under a month old. May want to consider drawing fresh," a heavy pause, "Is everything okay, dear?”

“Yeah, no worries," Bulma waved an innocent hand, "the battle yesterday made me think to check our stock, that’s all!” 

Bunny got excited: “I do hope that nice kitty man comes back for some more of my pudding!” she squeaked, “And his friend was _such_ a gentleman!”

Dr. Briefs smiled with sympathy at the expression on his daughter’s face. “Let’s get going dear,” he pulled his wife along by her elbow. 

Bulma crossed the compound to the lab with a spring in her step. She’d come up with an idea last night, despite her husband’s protestations, she _definitely_ had to try out. She’d even had a dream about it. Of course, in the dream, she flew on her own, and that level of ki mastery was not the point of the serum she planned to concoct. What was the point? She considered as she passed the gravity chamber. She’d taken the long way around the compound, it seemed, without intending to or realizing it. 

Bulma couldn’t resist the urge to look in through the porthole in the door. The sight was familiar. The boys wailing on Vegeta in a blur of legs and arms, seeming not to land a single blow as Vegeta appeared to be hovering perfectly still in the air and blocking all their attempts. Bulma smiled. Things had been fairly peaceful and dull the last few years before Beers crashed her birthday party yesterday. Now that they all survived, it seemed the near-death experience got everyone itching for a fight, even Bulma. 

That was the point. She wanted this serum because she wanted some action. She couldn't remember the last time she fought anything. When Goku was a child, most likely, and even then, she fought with her brains, her inventions and her guns. Chi-chi and Videl were both mothers of Saiyans and they'd both entered a World Martial Arts Tournament. Some weird itch made Bulma jealous that she was the only woman associated with Earth's Special Forces who'd never trained in hand to hand fighting a day in her life. A mid-life crisis, perhaps? Who cares? The richest and smartest woman on the planet could have whatever she wanted and certainly do whatever she wanted. Vegeta be damned. He'll get over it. Heck, he'll be so wrapped up in this Goku business, he may not even notice!

Bulma slid into her lab coat, smiling. She had a day home alone to focus without distraction on a new invention! Taking inventory of the blood stock she had to work with and making notes about drawing more in order to maintain a healthy transfusion supply, Bulma's brain formulated a plan. She assumed this is what the boys felt like, finding out Vegeta and Goku were going to spar with them in preparation for a new enemy. That anticipation must be very much the same. For them, it was new victory on the horizon. For her, new discovery. Plus, the thrill of her own fight. If this worked, she had to call the girls.


	2. Trial and Erroneous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training montage!

"Put these on, Daddy," Bulma delicately placed a scouter headset over her father's features, clicking some buttons on the side, it bleeped to life, "Now, look at mom for me really quick." Dr. Briefs' purple bangs were scrunched against his face by the device. He tucked them away from the eyepiece and he adjusted the plastic green disc to account for his glasses, then obliged by looking his wife up and down as the scouter outlined her curves in a green line.

"It seems to say her power level is 5, dear," Dr. Briefs played with the buttons and watched the various reactions of the device and its readout, "What does that mean?" He'd heard of power levels in passing from his daughter, son-in-law and grandson, but he never paid enough attention to know what was being measured exactly. Now his curiosity got the better of him. 

Bulma enjoyed knowing more about something than her father, for once: "The, for lack of a better word, _spiritual_ power innate within all living things which can be used to fly and shoot beams from your hands is called 'life force' or 'ki'," she explained, taping her tablet to make a few adjustments, "Earth's Special Forces channel their intangible ki into the physical realm and generate kinetic energy which they often call fighting power." Her father scratched his chin with interest, listening. "One's 'power level' is a measurement of ki, or potential fighting force," she smiled, pleased with herself.

"So, is your goal to raise your own ki and manipulate matter with your mind, my dear?" The physicist tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice, knowing, of course, that what she suggested was not only plausible but possible, given the amazing feats of the Z Fighters. He'd never taken the time to consult her in the nature of _how_ these abilities could occur. Truly, it was all a bit too mystic mumbo jumbo for Dr. Briefs. He'd always let his genius daughter dally in this spiritual nonsense as a sort of hobby. And he never considered the spirit stuff as an aspect of his son-in-law or grandson, because they were aliens! Of course they had inhuman abilities. But now, his own daughter was playing around with these forces, so he needed to understand them. In case she got hurt, perhaps he could help reverse the process.

Bulma missed his question as she scrolled through checkered rainbows of linear genomic variations and epigentic modifications with her finger flicking through the resulting projections. Genetics and biological enhancements were never her forte. However, Capsule Corps had a crack team of bio-engineers on site, so once she hit a roadblock, she had them on speed-dial. Her father caught her attention and repeated his question. Bulma exuded: "Yes, exactly! So, if you'll scan me, please?" She stood in a common Bulma fighting stance, hands on her hips and legs wide in a V. Her father ignored this bravado and bleeped the device to scan over his daughter objectively. 

"Looks like you're about 20... Wow! That's four times your mother's level!" Her superior strength _must_ be from his genes. Dr. Briefs was about to take off the scouter and ask her to scan him, when she reached for a rapid-mini-syringe gun. "What is that?!" but before he could object, Bulma pressed the device into the soft meat at the roundest part of her behind and pulled the trigger. The air in the room grew heavier as Bulma cried out- not in pain, it didn't sound like- but exhilaration like a professional weightlifter heaving the final winning pounds high above her head.

Chucking the gun aside, she laughed: "What am I now, Dad?" her smile was almost cruel. 

"Oh my goodness!" Dr. Briefs flustered and sputtered, leaning back on the worktable behind him. What had she done?

His wife reached for the scouter, "Lemme see, dear! What is it!?"

Bulma stood smugly. Of course it worked. But she still needed to learn how to fight and find partners willing to spar. Funny how her father was so impressed with merely tripling her ki. It was not enough strength to even fight Chi-chi or Videl, who had power levels of 150 to 300, depending on who you asked. She intentionally made this serum just strong enough to see if the concept was viable, giving herself the max amount of ki she calculated her body might surge to in a life or death situation, like if she needed to lift a car off a baby or something. Fortunately, she had a dozen Z Fighters for drastic actions like that.

A roiling queasiness and sudden aching muscles reminded Bulma that rapid growth of ki without the practice of internal control or channeling it externally could damage some organs, potentially even break bones. Before fighting, she had to... what did they call it? Master her ki. Also, to make a batch that would raise her level by a multiple of five or ten, she'd need some quick-healing on hand, just in case. A trip to Kami's Lookout was in order. This was going to be fun!

\--------------------

Trunks and Goten were having too much fun. Neither had ever sparred in the desert with their fathers, 'for-real training' the boys called it. They loved Goku's premonition while in god form. Goten's dad said the new enemy was very powerful and that the fight would somehow be personal for all of them. The boys fed off the intensity of their full-blooded sires. Occasionally, the Saiyans would smack their sons around, but for the most part it was father versus father and son versus son.

Trunks' fists flew in a blinding pummel, connecting sparingly, but often blocked by the blur of Goten's forearms. Trunks tried to distract Goten, a tactic that almost always worked: "Is your big brother ever gonna join us?"

"He'll be here! He's gotta do stuff, you know, to get ready to be a dad!"

"He's got like nine months for that or something!" Trunks made Goten nervous and defensive of his brother at once, he could already feel Goten slipping, so he amped it up: "You're just a kid, but Gohan's a grownup, so it's like irresponsible of him not to be here!" That outburst made Goten miss two blocks in a row. Trunks had an in."This bad guy could be here _tomorrow_!" Fear barbed deep into Goten's heart. He took another few blows when Trunks changed up the direction and pattern of his fists. Goten's chest heaved with frustration and welling tears.

"Concentrate, Goten!" came the call from above. Even as the fathers blasted one another through increasingly complex aerial acrobatics, they listened in on their sons' conversation and paid careful attention to the sparring in case they needed to step in. 

"Trunks has a point, Kakkarot," dodging and countering ki spheres, "You said you had no concept of time as a god. Does that mean we don't know if this daydream of yours will come true in 10 days or 10 years?!" 

Goku dived out of the sparring match and scratched his head: "Gosh, that's a good point, Vegeta," and he made some humming noises while attempting to remember, "I really don't know. I remember feeling like we'd be overwhelmed and... every time I think about it, I get angry," his features darkened, "There's something about this enemy that makes me angry," looking up at everyone and regaining his smile, "I mean, I have no idea WHEN this enemy will come, sorry Vegeta!"

”What about us, Dad?” Goten interrupted, flying up to them, “were we teenagers or grown ups in your vision?”

”You know… now that you mention it… I didn’t see either one of you fighting at all!”

”WHAT?!!” both mini Saiyans raged in unison, their ki flaring around them.

”Dad!” Trunks wheeled on Vegeta, “What are we even _DOING_ here then?!” and the boy was Super without realizing it.

”If Kakkarot hadn’t left that detail out last night, you’d still be here, you're getting soft, brat!” Super Trunks growled, baring his teeth.

Goku interrupted whatever suicidal back-talk that kid was about to spout, "We're all a bit soft! Beerus taught us that," chuckling. But when Vegeta glared, he nodded in mock-seriousness to affirm his agreement and followed up with ki blasts at both boys, who each deflected, then charged Goku together with flurries of fists and mini-ki balls of their own.

"You boys were very brave," Goku didn't appear to move as he blocked each of their tandem attacks, "charging Beerus as Gotenks without any fear, yesterday." 

"Brave, yes," Vegeta paid special attention to catch Trunks' eyes for an all-too-brief acknowledgement, which caught Trunks off guard, he wanted to respond, but his father continued: "brave and stupid." That was more like it. Trunks and Goten backed slightly off Goku and exchanged the look of children who knew better than their elders. Vegeta bestowed an incomparable courtesy by ignoring them, rather than smacking those looks off their faces. Instead he scolded: "One of the first rules of fighting is to know when you're out-matched."

Then the boys, both Super, really stopped midair, insulted, offended and almost in unison: "A Super Saiyan is never out matched!! We're the strongest in the universe!!" Hearing them shout at once sounded like Gotenks, which gave both Goku and Vegeta a twinge of Saiyan pride. 

Yet Vegeta, re-engaging Goku with ki blasts from the side while his attention was still on their sons, scoffed: "Yesterday should have taught you that's not true." He dodged Goku's deflections, "There are at least two beings stronger than Super Saiyans," he shot a much larger blast for each name: "Beerus... and... Whis!" 

Goku ricocheted the blasts towards the demi-Saiyans, who each powered-up, crossed their forearms over their faces and negated the full energy of each ki ball with their inner defenses, like ki shields barring their bodies. Trunks squinted up at his father, who charged Goku full-force: "Dad, that sushi-eating guy was stronger than us, too? You think so?"

"I know so."

Trunks was so stupefied by this response, Goten took the chance to punch him right in the face as payback for that Gohan abuse earlier. The blow knocked him out of Super. Ashamed at taking a cheap shot in front of his father, Trunks retaliated with renewed ferocity.

"He's right, guys," Goku dived backward away from Vegeta's kicking feet and jabbing knees, "Whis is definitely more powerful than us," he caught his breath, "In fact, he's more powerful than Beerus!" Even Vegeta paused at this new information. Goku grinned his rare power-hungry Saiyan smirk: "That sushi-eating guy was Beerus' master!" 

The boys hovered, slack-jawed and speechless.

The information was enough to intensify the kids' focus on their training the next few days. The news of Goku's premonition spread from Gohan through the rest of Earth's Special Forces and before week's end, the Saiyans and their offspring were joined in the desert by human ki blasts, tri-beams, destructo disks, solar flares and the special beam cannon.

\-----------

Plenty of people use steroids. But Bulma didn't want those numerous, messy side effects. She was a genius and could concoct her own alternative, perfectly suited to her needs. She wanted to alter as few hormones as possible, for sure. And she was concerned, initially, that she'd find a huge portion of Saiyan strength and endurance was derived from the endocrine system. Mandatory hormonal manipulation would've tabled the whole thing. She was happy to discover a variety of other functional sources of Saiyan power to draw from in Trunks' blood.

Bulma knew bio-enhancement was risky for test subjects, and she was her own guinea pig, so she had to protect herself. She didn't want to waste sensu beans during the prototype phase, knowing she'd need them later. So last week, she spent a day at Dende's making modifications and testing them out while he healed her every time she screwed up. It was only twice. Human and Saiyan DNA were very compatible, obviously. All the hybrids running around today were testament to that. 

Dende, of course, peaceful soul that he is, was not a fan of Bulma's venture, but supported her in the endeavor because she pleaded that she wanted to feel safer while the men were fighting the next big enemy. Dende never understood sexual dynamics like independent women and protector men, because he'd lived his entire life in Nameckian society. Plus, he didn't know Bulma well enough to recognize this reverse chauvinism as _way_ out of character for her.

So, innocently, for the rest of the afternoon, Dende taught her to control. At first, all that extra ki tried to tear her body apart and he had to heal some broken bones. Soon, he became fascinated by the speed of her progress. In a few short hours, with just four versions of the serum to test, Bulma was in a body that was fully her own, very healthy, but with far greater ki. The effect was short-lived as Bulma was only making rapid shelf-life serums at this stage. She didn't want Vegeta knowing exactly what she was up to, yet. Still, it was impressive. She felt like Chi-chi or Videl to Dende and he congratulated Bulma, because Chi-Chi's power level was her original goal.

\-------------

Vegeta and Trunks' heads tilted up simultaneously, like they both heard something or remembered something at the exact same time.

“Dad? Did you feel that?”

“Yes. But… it’s gone now," he closed his eyes for a moment, "and your mother feels fine.”

“Yeah," Trunks nodded, the trepidation out of his voice, "I can tell she’s not scared, or in pain or anything.” 

“It’s good that you watch out for her,” Vegeta didn’t want to waste the word ‘proud’ here, but he was glad his son paid attention to Bulma as well. That woman needed two Super Saiyans in her life, she was so reckless.

\---------------

Bulma wanted to show up at Son House and pick a fight with Chi-chi, she was so confident in the serum now. But she thought better of it and invited the Son women over for a workout session of Zumba and yoga instead. But when Videl and Chi-chi arrived, she had another idea:

"Why not martial arts?" Bulma suggested oh-so-casually, "The guys are out there fighting, why don't we?" She was met with silence at first, as she followed them into the locker room beside the Capsule Corps dojo, just off the gymnasium. "What?" she goaded, fixing her hair-band in the mirror and looking back at Chi-chi and Videl's reflections behind her, "You guys afraid of me?"

Videl winced, "Kind of the opposite?" she didn't want to hurt Bulma's feelings, so she looked to Chi-Chi for support. The Ox King's daughter was never one to mince words:

"Bulma, you _couldn't_ spar with us." Chi-chi began shifting out of her dress and riffling through her gym bag on the bench.

Immediately insulted, Bulma forgot why she even brought them here and spouted: "Why the hell not?!" 

Videl shimmied into training shorts, feeling better about the topic now that Chi-chi broke the ice, she thought she might be able to soothe Bulma down: "Well, you've never done martial arts of any kind, have you? I mean, not even a self-defense class?"

"What she's trying to say, Bulma," Chi-chi pulled each of her arms into a tank top, "is we've fought professionally in the past," she placed a concerned hand on her friend's shoulder, "So, we're out of your league." 

"EXCUSE ME?!" hands on both hips, ready to sear their brains out with her rage, "I am the wife of the Prince of all Saiyans, missy!"

"Well, unless his love juices cause muscle development," Chi chi paused to consider, "And Goku's don't... so Vegeta's shouldn't either!"

"Hey, hey," Videl could see lightning bolts fly between Chi-Chi and Bulma's eyes. Perhaps if she tried to stoke Bulma's ego? "You always fight with guns and robots," Videl stood between the women, "That wouldn't be fair to the two of us!" 

Chi-chil laughed at her daughter-in-law: "And you think FLYING is fair?" she turned to tie her hair the way she used to wear it when she was a fighter in the World Martial Arts Tournament. Videl threw her hands up. She knew her mother-in-law never forgave Gohan for teaching Videl to fly, while not teaching his mother when he was younger, who now obstinately refused to be taught, just because it hadn't occurred to Gohan to teach her first.

"I _do not_ just fight with guns!" Bulma lied, still incensed at these insults and she continued to get ready for a fight, regardless of what these hussies had to say about it. While slathering on some deodorant: "You ladies don't know what I've got up my sleeves. I'm the smartest woman on the planet! You think I don't come prepared?" 

No one was surprised when she pulled out her capsule kit, but both Sons gasped when she withdrew a needle gun and stabbed herself in the butt with it, smiling wide. She pulled the needle out, leaving a barely noticeable indent in the fabric of her shorts, because the needle was so tiny and fast, shot like a piston, pumping her full of her serum and back out again before she could feel it. Just another of her own innovations to make this process simpler and more impressive.

"Bulma! What are you...?!" and then Videl felt it, "Oh my gosh!" 

"So," Bulma smirked, "I want to learn how to fight. Who's going to be my sensi?" 

\-------------

Goku’s breath was ragged and he heaved a grunt as he punched for Vegeta’s ribcage. The Prince dodged and struck out at his opponent’s jaw, missing, but grazing his knuckles over Goku’s cheekbone just as his head tilted out of the way. It was enough contact to imply how much that punch would’ve hurt if it connected. 

“What’s the matter with you, Kakkarot?!” Vegeta bellowed, dodging further blows, but taking one to his collar bone, “You’re faster than this! I shouldn’t be connecting at all! Not even a graze!” 

Goku dove backwards in the air, a time out, and thought about how he felt, while catching his breath. “I guess I don’t like being watched,” Goku’s neck craned towards the Capsule Corps ship hovering noiselessly nearby. Far enough away to avoid collateral damage but near enough for ‘good seats’ to the show. “I wish you could’ve convinced her not to bring everyone out here.” 

“Really, Kakkarot?” Vegeta growled: “Do you seriously believe there is _anything_ I could do, short of killing her, to keep that woman from something she wants?”

\-------------

"Vegeta's not going to kill you, is he, Bulma?" Chi-chi watched the fighting below with a hand on the glass in longing. “You were right, all this is making me itch for the old days," she sighed, "Thank you for having us out here."

“Yeah! These are great seats, Bulma!" Oolong slurped down tea and appetizers, "Thanks for inviting us for a viewing party!”

“It’s almost like a World Martial Arts Tournament,” Paur squeaked, "Yamcha hasn't trained like this in years!" The observation deck of one of Capsule Corps' most cushy ships buzzed with activity. Everyone who usually associated with the Z Fighters milled around casually enjoying themselves with the free food and drinks. Bulma didn't even mind the mooching so much. She was excited; ready to fight for real. Her body hummed with anticipation.

“I gotta admit," Videl laughed, "when you first called, I wasn't sure about this plan of yours..."

“I’ve been trying to talk her out of it for days,” Dr. Briefs twitched his mustache left and right, unconcerned about interrupting Videl. 

“I agree with Dr. Briefs, honey,” Ox King's apprehension was masked by his usual jovial voice, “This all sounds really dangerous.”

“That’s the point, Daddy!" Chi Chi's exasperation was almost desperate, “We used to be right there on the front lines of danger! Not sitting backstage babysitting!” 

“Hey!" Eighteen's husky voice piped up from the floor where she took out toys for her daughter, "Marron is the only baby here and she can take care of herself.” There was an uncomfortable silence that usually followed anything Eighteen said as she stood and walked toward the windows.

Videl cleared her throat, "What I wanted to say, Bulma," she nodded at her mother-in-law, "Chi-Chi... is... I really want to fight, too!"

“Not you, preggo!” Bulma ordered, "I can't risk the life of an innocent unborn baby with this."

"That's right!" Chi-chi wheeled on her, "How dare you put that little angel in jeopardy for a good time?!" Videl looked ashamed for a second, then regained her courage in the face of her elders and sparkled: 

“My fetus helped create the Super Saiyan God! I’ve always been stronger than either of you, but I bet I’m ten times stronger with this baby inside!”

"Stronger than me?!" Chi-chi scoffed, "In your dreams, young lady!" 

“She can have my place," Eighteen spoke up, pushing herself off the glass with a look of determination, "I won’t be participating."

“Oh, com’n!" Chi-chi goaded, "Are you too pretty to fight with us?!”

“No,” Eighteen’s near-clear steel blue eyes looked right through Goten’s mother, “I’m too strong." She bent down and patted Marron on the head. "I'm going to go fight with your father and the Z Warriors. Be good for Dr. and Mrs. Briefs, okay?"

"Why Mommy?" Marron's wide eyes quizzed, "You're stronger than all them anyways!"

"That's not true for most of them anymore," Eighteen sighed, then straightened, "but I am stronger than everyone on this ship," and she looked over her shoulder, "sorry, ladies. Have fun without me." The comment was not intended to be as patronizing as it sounded, but coming from her un-annunciating voice, it felt harsh to the remaining women. 

"Give me a lift, ma'am?" Roshi leaned against the round wall that partitioned the cabin of the ship from the deck, "I'm just as tired as you all are of sitting on the sidelines," he called out so everyone on the ship could hear: "These whipper snappers would be nothing without me!" his eyes rose to look at Eighteen over the rims of his sunglasses, "What'd'ya say?" 

The Saiyan wives felt a familiar coiling jealousy, watching Eighteen exit the ship carrying Master Roshi down to the fray. None of them wanted to be androids-turned-human, but gosh to be powerful enough to confront the Earth's strongest men? What would that even feel like? Bulma saw it as a challenge to one day make them all as mighty as Eighteen. But she'd save that for later. One step at a time.

"Bye Mommy!" Marron waved as her mother flew down past the Super Saiyan family, a league of their own and still fighting separately above the others. Eighteen unceremoniously chucked Master Roshi at Yamcha, who barely caught him, and engaged her training with a ki blast right at her husband's back!


	3. Combat Impetus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Round One...FIGHT!"

Mr. Satan stared out the windows of the observation deck in shock. The perverted old man on the ground, shirtless and ten times beefier than he'd ever seen him before, blasted one of the younger fighters out of the air! How come he, Mr. Satan, once the greatest martial artist in the history of the world, never learned to do any of that cool stuff? "It's not fair, Buu," he sighed, his entire face elongated with sadness, "that old guy can train with them down there, but I can't."

"You can punch Buu around if you want!" the pink bubble man smiled, stuffing his face, as usual.

"Aw, thanks Buu old buddy, but it's just not the same," he sighed. 

"So, you understand how I feel, Dad?" Videl asked, coming up behind her father, indignant as Bulma and Chi-Chi discussed rules of engagement for their first bout.

Hercule Satan never wanted to say no to his daughter. Disappointing her hurt more than not being able to fight with Earth's Special Forces. So he stammered: "Videl, baby girl, maybe... you know... they might be right and it's not a good idea to fight while you're pregnant?" he leaned away from her, sheepish hands up in defense, as though she might hit him, "even if you _are_ so much stronger than them," he looked sideways at the other people on the ship and the rest of his words tumbled out in a rapid regurgitation: "And maybe you did save the world when that cat guy showed up because without my grandchild there wouldn't even be an Earth to fight for right now and you're the strongest woman on the planet except for that robot lady, but maybe you still shouldn't be fighting in your condition??!" and he nervous-laughed, backing up.

"Alright! Fine!" Videl gave up, bitterly crossing her arms and jutting her chin skyward, "I'll just watch and play referee!"

Bulma and Chi-Chi headed into a central living quarter of the ship to change. After a few minutes, Videl knocked on the door to join them. She sighed, seeing them all decked out in sparring clothes. Bulma's hands wore half-finger, black tactical hard-knuckle gloves, Chi-Chi's suggestion after their initial training at the Capsule Corps dojo. Bulma's punches were still uneven, not always square, causing her to damage her knuckles from time to time. Rookie mistake she'd eventually hurt herself enough to correct instinctively. Chi-Chi laughed when Bulma expressed concern that fighting with these gloves might give her an advantage. Bulma liked the look and feel of the gloves as she flexed her fingers before her face, so she didn't complain one bit.

She told Vegeta the knuckle injuries were from trying out martial arts with the girls, which wasn't a lie, of course, just not the whole truth. He laughed at the image and made fun of her weakness, but let it drop without any suspicion, _she hoped._ As if reading her mind, Videl and Chi-Chi came up beside her, looking at the Capsule Corps box atop the dresser with trepidation. The anxiety in the air between the women was palpable.

"We're really doing this, right?" Chi-Chi gave a nervous laugh. Bulma looked at the container, suddenly apprehensive. Chi-chi nudged her shoulder: "I mean, we all know Vegeta," sighing at the box, "I think it's very brave you were willing to come this far, against his wishes." That matronly obedient-wife comment sent Bulma over the edge of her decision. She wasn't some traditional kowtowing woman like her younger friend! She popped the metal latch.

"Well! I can't properly field test it without him finding out, can I?!" She pulled the syringe gun out, "Let's do this thing!" stabbing herself. The air in the room grew heavy and Bulma laughed as she felt the new energy coursing through her again. This time, it felt different. It wasn't a short shelf-life serum. It was meant to last hours and it bonded into her body differently. She felt stronger than she did the other all-too-brief times. Chi-Chi gave an approving clap of her hands with a hop in the air. Videl smirked. She felt her insides wriggle. Knowing the baby was too small to make meaningful moments, she assumed it was a jump in the fetus' ki. Even in such an early development stage, the quarter Saiyan responded positively to the feel of an approaching fight. 

\---------------

Goku's punch barreled into Vegeta's ribs. He'd expected the Prince to dodge, so he stopped his next blow, his fist still balled and reared back, realizing something wasn't right. Vegeta's eyes were glued to the Capsule Corps ship behind Goku. "What is it Vegeta?" Then Goku felt it too. Bulma. Her nascent flicker of human ki had spiked all of a sudden to something more like Chi-chi's. 

Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "Take me there," he gripped Kakarot's shoulder. 

With a ping they appeared on the deck of the ship with the other spectators. Vegeta stomped around to the back. There were shrieks and enraged bitching ensued as he stepped into the impromptu changing room.

"Vegeta!!!! Get out!!!" Chi chi hurled a brush at him, which he caught and tossed aside. His gaze landing on Bulma:

"Wife! What have you done?! I thought we agreed..."

And his hair was singed by her ki.

One of the tips of his black Saiyan spikes smoldered a tiny tendril of smoke. Bulma giggled uncontrollably: 

"I've _always_ wanted to do that!" her index finger and thumb aimed at his hair in the shape of a gun. "Pew, pew, pew!" she shot miniscule, barely visible, bolts of ki with delight. Much to the surprise of Videl and Chi-Chi. Where'd she learn to do that? She noted their looks with a shrug, "Dende's a pretty good teacher. I can't form ki balls or blasts or anything, but a little pew, pew, pew? It's just another way to avoid bodily harm, in case I can't quite control the new ki internally."

Vegeta growled low, turned around on his heel and, barging into Kakarot, demanded to return to their training.

\--------------

"Dad!!! Dad!!!" Trunks waved his hands, darting up to his father the moment Goku and Vegeta reappeared in the sparring area they'd just left, "What's up with mom?! What's going on?!" his eyes were wide with wonder masking a twinge of concern. Vegeta looked away.

"I heard they're gonna do some sparring of their own today," Goku laughed.

"Oh my goodness!" Gohan's hands clasped to the sides of his head, "Videl's not fighting too, is she?!"

"No. Looks like she's pretty steamed about it," he clapped his son on the shoulder, "You better be ready when you get home tonight, Gohan!"

"Aw... man..." Gohan's shoulders sank. 

Goten's face lit up with joy, "Our _moms_ are gonna fight?!" looking at Trunks with a wide grin.

"Cool! I wanna see that!" Trunks whooped, "Can we take a break and go watch Dad?" when his father snorted and turned away from the boys, Trunks flew around in front of him, "Can we? Can we, please?" 

"Absolutely not!" Vegeta snarled "This isn't some joke!"

"What's wrong Vegeta?" Goku hovered behind him, feeling the prince's erratic ki spasms, then trying to lighten the mood, "You think Chi-Chi's gonna win?" he reached to shove Vegeta playfully, but stopped his hand mid-motion. Whatever this was, he could tell it was serious.

"You don't think mom can win?!" Trunks bristled, "But she feels really strong!" and then he chuckled, "I mean... for a human lady."

"Yeah, actually," Gohan scratched his head, "What's up with that?" looking to Vegeta, and immediately taken aback by his expression.

" _Gohan, take the boys to train with you and the others_ " Goku telepathically interjected, before Vegeta could respond aloud. The Prince, hearing their communication, of course, at such close range, shot a glance back at Goku, his eyes squinting.

Gohan grabbed each of the boys' shoulders, "Look, they're just sparring today, I bet. Bulma's going to need to learn how to fight, you know? That kind of thing is always pretty embarrassing to watch, right? We'll wait and check it out tomorrow or whenever they fight again, okay? For now, come with me and give the Z Fighters a real challenge!" The boys begrudgingly agreed, Trunks looking over his shoulder at his father with concern as they flew away.

When they were safely out of earshot, Goku turned to Vegeta: "You wanna..."

"No, Kakarot! My wife, my business!" Vegeta flexed his fists at his sides, "I don't want Trunks involved either," his eyes darted to meet Kakarot's with a hint of gratitude he'd never say out loud. "Now, let's get back to it." 

\-------------------

Chi-Chi, Bulma and Videl stepped out of a hover-car onto the desert sand, near enough to the men to feel like part of the action, but far enough away to not get pummeled if one of those guys was rocket-propelled into the ground. They checked their store of senzu beans and agreed to three rounds, no holds barred. Videl un-capsulized a cushy recliner for her referee chair. If she didn't get to fight, she might as well be comfortable. 

Chi-Chi treated the first round as more of a training spar. She tried to feel Bulma's new abilities out; wary of the older woman taking cheap ki shots. So, while she learned where Bulma's comfort zone was, Chi-Chi allowed a few punches past her guard.

Bulma's fist plowed into Chi-Chi's face for the third time and the connection was so satisfying, the soft flesh giving way and the hard reverberation of the impact against the other woman's cheek bone, Bulma could feel it all the way up to her shoulder! It surprised her as that tingling feeling snaked up her neck, to her own cheek. Bulma wondered how to _not_ get addicted to this? She felt more understanding and appreciation for her son and husband than she ever had in her whole life. Because of that empathy alone, she regretted not doing this sooner, at least trying it. Chi-chi spat some blood and smirked, noticing Bulma's musing mind, she jabbed hard in the scientist's ribs. Bulma doubled over and Chi-Chi kneed her chin, knocking her hard into the ground. That reverberation of bone on bone she'd enjoyed a minute earlier was an unbelievable jarring pain when on the receiving end. Bulma knew she wasn't getting up for a minute.

Videl cheered and clapped with pleasure. "Badass!" she yelled. 

"Round one." Chi-Chi smiled, wiping her face of dirt and sweat, then spraying water into her mouth by squeezing a hard plastic bottle. Bulma writhed in the sand. Sure, she'd been hit before, the freaking God of Destruction knocked her out! But to feel like she was winning, then be trounced a second later? That was a new one on her. And thanks to the tougher endurance of her body, the real pain she felt was deep in her bruised ego; another moment of insight about her husband's drive to win. Drilling her fist into the sand to support herself, she coughed out a round of phlegm and bile, before rising to one knee. She was surprised to see Chi-Chi's extended hand before her face. "You got first blood, old lady," she laughed, clutching Bulma's hand and hoisting her up "I'll give you that." She smiled warmly at Bulma.

Is this what it means to have a sparring partner? They enrage you and then somehow appreciate you? Bulma tried to compare it with the competitive nature of her frenemies in the scientific community, with whom she could go have a beer after beating them to a patent. Nope. It wasn't the same. She'd never had a relationship quite like what she felt looking into Chi-Chi's smiling eyes at that moment. "This is so much fun!" Bulma blurted, surprising herself, like a little kid who just rode her first water slide or something.

"I know, right?" Chi-chi laughed openly. She resisted the urge to hug Bulma for giving her this old familiar feeling back. Maybe after the third round? Well, if they made it that far. She was pretty confident Bulma didn't have a shot in round two.

Bulma rubbed her bruised jaw. "Is it too early for a senzu bean?" she joked. Then got herself some water and rejoined Chi-Chi in their makeshift sparring circle. She lowered into a defensive stance, expecting Chi-Chi to come out swinging this time. At least Bulma hoped so. She wanted to try out some of her new speed, to see if she could dodge hits she saw coming. Wouldn't that be something?

Chi-Chi took the bait and charged. She faked left and swung right and Bulma successfully dodged! She stepped back a couple paces, to avoid any forthcoming blows as she mentally congratulated herself. 

"Coward," Chi-Chi scolded, "You had a good opening to hit me right there," and she advanced menacing, her head down and shoulders square, "You've got to transition a dodge into a blow, every time!" And Chi-Chi surprised Bulma with a kick, which she caught! Then Chi-Chi's fist came flying at Bulma's face, who dropped her opponent's foot and jabbed out instinctively with her own at the same time, swiping against Chi-Chi's standing ankle, tripping her before the punch connected and sending the more experienced fighter face-first in the dirt. How the heck did she do that?! Bulma resisted the urge to do a little hopping dance from foot to foot and instead got really cocky with it. Placing her boot between Chi-Chi's shoulder blades and applying pressure.

"Ha Ha HA!" she mocked, her hands on her hips, digging her heel into Chi-Chi's spine.

"No, Bulma! You idiot!" Videl shrieked, "Watch out!" But it was too late. Chi-chi rolled over in a flash and pulled Bulma's supporting foot out from under her. Having her opponent on the ground, she knew Bulma was at a disadvantage already, because they'd gone over very few wrestling maneuvers last week. She hooked her leg around Bulma's hip and an elbow under Bulma's chin. The choke hold was perfect as Bulma struggled with her shoulders and her free hand to writhe up and hit Chi-Chi's face, or kick her. And Bulma did kick Chi-Chi a few good times in the shin with her free leg, but with every movement Chi-Chi's hold of Bulma's hip and the strangle of her throat grew tighter, further incapacitating the scientific genius who knew nothing whatsoever about how to get out of this position. Bulma's eyes started to blur and her chest heaved. She couldn't breathe! Just as she was about to black out, she heard Videl shout: "Round!"

Her hip had been pulled back so hard she thought it'd snap, and its blessed loosening was what Bulma felt first as she freely flexed the joint once again when Chi-Chi's leg detached from her own. Bulma lay on her side. She coughed and coughed, her throat on fire with how much she'd strained against Chi-Chi's powerful arms. She gritted her teeth, panting, and finally sat up, looking with wide, hungry eyes at Chi-Chi who high-fived Videl. Bulma's opponent, her victor, turned back and reached out that same smiling hand to help her up.

"Great fight, Bulma!" the wife of her husband's rival beamed. 

"Thanks!" she got up with a satisfied sigh, reliving the parts of the brief combat she'd done well. She never imagined she'd catch Chi-Chi's kick and especially not trip her! "That _was_ a great fight, thank you," and both women bowed to one another. Rising and facing each other, they shared a genuine laugh with more familiarity than these two women had ever shared.

Back on the ship, in their changing room, as she cleaned her face with a towel, Bulma mused, "I need to practice more, if I'm ever going to use this serum in the---" and she stopped herself from saying 'bedroom.' Then she remembered her two friends were also married to Super Saiyans. Let's face it, they could all use some endurance enhancement, and she winked:

“Chi-chi, I can totally whip up a batch for you, if you want!" snapping her fingers, "All I need is some of Goten or even Gohan’s blood.” She tossed the towel to Videl, who dropped it in the laundry bin next to her. “You too, Videl, once your little girl is born." She continued explaining as they walked down the hall, famished and looking forward to the buffet still laid out in the observation cabin. "It’ll be easy to fix the desired Saiyan attributes to your physiology because our kids have _our_ DNA in them as well. Our DNA has internally bonded with Saiyan DNA in our progeny." She snatched a glass of champagne from the bar, toasting them both, even though they didn't have glasses, "Easy peasy to reverse engineer an effective elixir to bond inside our own bodies," she took a hearty chug and smiled, "Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before!”

“You’re playing with dangerous stuff, here, daughter," Dr. Briefs stood from the couch, lighting a cigarette as he walked over to them. 

"Oh yeah, Daddy? As dangerous as those cancer sticks?!" Bulma stuck out her tongue and gulped down her drink in frustration. Videl and Chi-Chi exchanged worried glances. Neither had ever seen the purple-haired grandfather without a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked. But then again, Bulma was an avid smoker when she wanted to be, so could she even talk? 

In answer, Dr. Briefs snorted two long billows from his nostrils, lecturing "A super-soldier serum is one of the most dreaded inventions in science fiction for a reason, young lady!" he crossed his arms, his tiny black cat nearly sliding off his back, "Great potential for misuse in the wrong hands.” 

“I’ve thought of that! Geez!" Bulma bent down in her father's face. These debates were common and enjoyable for the two of them. "It can’t be used on humans who haven’t parented a Saiyan hybrid. And it’s not fatal to normal humans _even if_ it did get in the wrong hands!" She turned her back in a huff, "It definitely won’t make them super soldiers. Just make’em a little sick... like dysentary or something, not too bad," she smirked back at her father.

Dr. Briefs seemed satisfied enough, and turned his back to rejoin his wife on the couch. However, he blew three deliberate defiant rings of smoke in the air above his head as he walked away, for good measure.

Videl considered Bulma's proposition, eating some melon on a stick. "If you make us our own serums, then we'll be more powerful than you can possibly handle." 

"Maybe not," Bulma smiled, "I've got another idea. Chi-chi, will you come by my place tomorrow morning, after breakfast when the guys are already out sparring?" 

"Of course, but there's not much I can teach you in a single day," she smiled, "old lady." 

Bulma ignored the insult, "We'll see. Time may be on our side," and she laughed at her own joke.

\---------------------------

"That is not the purpose of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, I'm afraid," Dende smiled politely at the two women standing before him.

"Come on, Dende! This is important!" Bulma leaned forward, to look in his eyes, stomping her foot.

Dende gave a gentle shake of his head, "I've already had an irate visit from your husband last night, Bulma," his cool voice continued in apology, "It seems you deceived me when you gave your reasons for training. I did not check to see if you were lying, because I trusted you," his face became downcast in disappointment.

"Excuse my friend's rudeness, Guardian of the Earth," Chi-Chi bowed, "She's a spoiled heiress who's accustomed to doing whatever it takes to get what she wants!"

"Then she and her husband are well matched," Dende grinned. He'd been threatened by Vegeta so many times in his life now, it was nearly a term of endearment. Still, "The Hyperbolic Time Chamber is for life and death situations. Emergencies, not amusements" Dende's politeness and civility annoyed Bulma. Her eyebrow twitched. But she felt legitimately bad about being called out in a lie to such a good and godly little Nameck, especially in front of Chi-Chi. So, the brilliant heiress kept her mouth shut and waited for her friend's old-school subservient charm to crack Dende's defenses.

"You can check me for honesty, Master Dende," Chi-Chi clasped her hands in front of her chest, "because I promise you, my intentions to train this woman in your Time Chamber are pure." She spun around on her toe, and stepped away, towards the rim of the lookout, head held high, eyes to the sky, as Chi-Chi embarked on a solemn soliloquy so effusing with emotion, Bulma was certain Dende would catch how ridiculously pandering and manipulative it was: "We humans are survivalists, Lord Guardian, you must know that about us as you watch over our struggles. Bulma and myself, from our earliest memories, were part of this proud heritage of survival. We helped save the day for our families and our species many times. Now we wither on the sidelines, growing older and less confident in our abilities and ourselves," the back of one hand gingerly on her forehead as she spun around, facing her audience once more, "Our very identities! Robbed! By these forces so much stronger than us! We're obsolete. We feel undervalued, unappreciated and" she sighed, chin falling to her chest, "Unloved. These are not mere trifles, Master Dende," she lowered herself to one knee and took his hand, "Please, I beg you to let us poor women reclaim our destiny, if only for a few enjoyable days, before we must once again accept the sidelines, watching in distress as those we love fight our battles for us!" And with that, she bowed lower, placing her forehead on the top of his green hand.

Behind the Guardian of Earth, his friend and fellow deity, Mr. Popo, sniffled and wiped a single tear from his dark, round cheek, inhaling a heavy sound like a sob. "Sublime elocution," he exhaled.

It took everything- absolutely every ounce of restraint Bulma possessed- not to explode in riotous guffaws.

Dende smiled down at Chi-Chi, "You understand that in the training area of this chamber, you'll experience ten times Earth's gravity? Are either of you prepared for that?" 

Chi-Chi stood up and glanced at Bulma, "We tried increased gravity out earlier today at Bulma's place," she blushed, embarrassed, "Well, we tried 2g through 4g anyway," with a nervous laugh. They hadn't dared go up to 5g. "Goku told me the three living areas are just above normal gravity, not all the way up to 10g?"

Bulma cut in: "If that's true, we can do most of what we need to in the living areas." Dende looked at her with concern. "We won't destroy anything! We're not Saiyans! It's not like we'll be firing ki blasts. Just doing katas and holds and maybe trying to learn to fly?" she looked at Chi-Chi for confirmation, who nodded. Then the heiress smiled her sweetest smile, "Please?" 

"I don't feel comfortable letting you spend an entire day in there just for this," Dende scratched his chin in thought. 

"A day?!" Chi-chi gasped, "No, no, no, sir!" shaking her head and waving her hands, "I don't want to do this stuff for a whole year!"

"Ugh! No! Fighting for a year?!" Bulma exclaimed, crossing her arms, "definitely not!"

Mr. Popo and Dende looked at one another with raised eyebrows. "Then... how long were you thinking, exactly?" Dende asked. 

Bulma tapped her chin a few times, "Well, let's see, time passes faster at a multiple of 365.24 in there, so... what do you say, Chi-Chi? If we're in there for 30 minutes, that'll equate to one week, fourteen hours and 30 minutes of training inside. Not counting sleeping, eating and bathing, of course. Will that be too long?" 

"Oh my! I'd be happy with half that!"

"Come on! We'll treat it like a girl's vacation! And when we come back from our weeklong getaway, we won't even be home late for dinner!" Chi-chi laughed her consent, and the women clasped hands in giddy agreement, hopping up and down.

Mr. Popo and Dende comically fell backwards in shock, their legs twitching in the air.

\-------------------------

Vegeta didn't sleep in their bedroom last night, and she hadn't seen him in the morning. So, Bulma was surprised, when she got home from eating dinner at Chi-Chi's, to find Vegeta in their bed, balled up in sheets and seemingly asleep. Or he was until she came in. 

"I know where you went today, wife," he grouched, unmoving, eyes still shut, as she closed the door. Bulma noticed with concern that his voice didn't sound as violent as she expected. Was he actually too tired to start a shouting match? She felt an odd disappointment. 

"Figured you'd be paying attention to me, after yesterday," the matter-of-fact answer as she disrobed and walked in her underwear to the bathroom. Besides, she thought, not like it was that hard to track her, she'd been in the same spot all day long! After their 30 minutes in the Chamber, the two exhilarated women showed off their week's worth of work and spared for Dende and Mr. Popo who gave them pointers and critiques. She'd come home a little bruised, for sure, because she liked the feel of it. Rather than take another senzu bean (she'd had two while in the Chamber) she wanted to enjoy the memories of today with the satisfying little aches all over.

Knowing she couldn't see him, Vegeta's body scrunched up into a tighter ball, clinging to the sheets, before he growled so she could hear: "No need to hide your fool intentions _now_ is there, vile woman?" 

Her mouth full as she brushed her teeth, Bulma slopped: "Vegeta, I'm sorry I hid all this from you over the past week." He snorted at her utter disrespect. What an apology! She came in, put on a robe and sat down on the bed. He could tell how proud of herself she was, in spite of his displeasure. He ground his teeth. She reached for him, saying in a low voice, "I knew you'd forgive me..."

He burst from the bed before her bandaged hand could touch him. She was surprised to see him fully clothed. And still he didn't raise his voice, but the raw bitterness was tangible: "What makes you think I've forgiven you?!"

Bulma's hands set on her hips and she didn't get up from the bed. "Well, you're here in our room, aren't you? You gave me the silent treatment yesterday!" 

"You're lucky it wasn't divorce papers!" 

"VEGETA!" 

"Don't wake the brat, shrew!" he hissed, checking Trunks' ki before saying another word. Then he turned on her, stood tall, squared his shoulders and straightened his neck, locking his gaze with hers in a way that made Bulma feel ashamed. He heaved a breath through his nose. "When I make requests of you, I do not make them lightly."

"I..." 

"Do not interrupt me." His jaw worked, his closed mouth moving around like a predator. His breaths were short bursts. He was really upset! Damn! Bulma wanted to reach out to him, but felt glued to the bed. His face contorted in disgust as he finally drilled: "You smell of blood. Though your wretched invention is out of your system, I can tell your body's toned, harder from your week of training in that damnable time chamber! And your skin is calloused and coarse." 

It was Bulma's turn to burst from the bed: "Superficial shit!?" of all his possible reasons, this shocked her, "Is that what you're pissy about?" He snorted and turned his back on her. She tried to get around to face him, but he kept dodging. Her foot stamped the ground. "I _love_ fighting Vegeta! Can you believe that? Your mate actually enjoys taking and giving a beating! I thought you'd be thrilled to death!" she stomped away from him in exasperation and punched the bathroom's door frame, further breaking the skin of her bruised knuckles beneath the bandages. Ouch, that stung! She'd never beat anything in anger while arguing with Vegeta. Thrown things? Meaningless slaps? Sure, but the impulse to punch something surprised her. Maybe Vegeta had a point? No. People change, their interests change and they want different things out of life. He was just trying to control her like a pompous royal. Well, she was no subject of his!

Meanwhile, the smell of her fresh blood rose bile in Vegeta's throat, a chill of hateful rage coursed over his tightening skin and stung his eyes. She didn't notice as he walked outside. He heard her frustrated shrieks behind him: "My smell? My skin? I can take a shower and get a few treatments at the spa, for heaven's sake! It's all temporary!"

"I'll tell you what's not temporary," his hard gaze bore into her back, strong enough that he saw her shoulder muscles flex at the contact of his focused ki, "All damn day, I can sense your disrupted energy. I _feel_ you getting hurt. _Your son_ feels you getting hurt!"

She gasped and wheeled back on him, surprised to find him outside. Dang it. She had to go to him. How could she be so careless? Now she had to apologize to Trunks as soon as this was resolved with her husband. Bulma's heart stung. Since she couldn't detect anyone's ki, she forgot the reality she'd thrust on her family without asking.

Looking out over their balcony, Vegeta was done with this for tonight, but would leave her hurting as much as she'd wounded him. His back said to her: "I know you love fighting, woman. That's why I married you." He heard her sigh, her approach, knew she would try to touch him or embrace him in apology. When her disgusting smelly hand was almost within reach of his shoulder, he stopped her with his coldest voice: 

"I said I like you soft." He glanced over his shoulder, a single glowering eye, angry, but laced with pain, was all he had to show her, "Clearly, my admission meant nothing to you." And he took off. Vegeta finally felt satisfied when, over the sound of the rushing air, he heard her first tears.

"Mom?" Trunks stepped out onto the balcony, after he felt his dad fly off and it might be safe to enter their room. She was on her knees, sniffling, but not crying too hard. That was a relief. He'd heard the end of their argument.

Bulma wheeled on him: "I'm so sorry Trunks! Are you okay?!"

Her son swallowed and nodded, with his head down, then he smelled the fresh blood: "Are _you_ okay?" his eyes instinctively darted to her knuckles, "I mean, did you get a senzu today, mom?"

Bulma felt so bad, she grabbed and embraced him, her head on his shoulder, "Oh, sweetheart, I didn't need one, today. We just practiced basics, so I have a shot against her next time," she heaved a sigh, "Trunks, I'm so sorry, I forgot about how you'd feel me getting hurt all day!"

Trunks blushed and pushed her back a little to look her over. Satisfied she didn't need a senzu and she wasn't just making him feel better, he relaxed: "Well, today I kind of freaked out when I couldn't feel you anymore at all. Then Dad said you were in the other dimension, where Goten and I trained that one time," his voice was nervous, at first, but he recovered, smiling, "It was pretty weird yesterday when you got beat up by Goten's mom. Like, I had this impulse to go and knock her out, you know?"

Bulma gave him a gentle smile, "Oh Trunks! Chi-Chi and I are having fun! Just like you always enjoy sparring with Goten, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not who you are, mom!" Her son's concerned eyes carried no malice or judgment, just the honesty of a kid. Was she losing herself in this hobby? Again, she considered her punch of the bathroom doorframe. He broke their embrace. Bulma studied him. Usually Trunks wasn't so bold as to comment on his parents' life choices. Her contemplative silence furrowed Trunks' brow and made him say: "Sorry," he recited a line from the those no-bullying classes in school: "You can be whoever you wanna be, it's all right with me." Then he cheered up, the mood swings of a child, and shrugged, "It's just weird, that's all," and he started for the door.

"Trunks..." 

"Nah, don't worry about it, mom!" he flashed her a genuine smile, "I love fighting so I get that you love it too! No big deal!" he darted off, just like his father, done with a conversation and bailing. But then he turned around and poked his head back through the bay doors: 

"Good luck beating her butt next time!" he cheered.

Bulma laughed, "Thanks, sweetheart! Good night! Sleep well!" Now, if only his father could be so easily swayed. Bulma stood, turned the lights out and collapsed onto her bed. Way too tired to worry about Vegeta right now.

The Saiyan Prince sat atop one of the domes of Capsule Corps, seeing the light switch off in his bedroom. The boy let her off too easily, for all that brat's whining about her ki earlier today. Vegeta wouldn't be persuaded by a hug and a few sweet words. But at least Trunks would pay more attention to this training tomorrow. Unconvinced that he'd be able to sleep well at all, Vegeta flew down to the open window of a spare bedroom to at least make an attempt.

\-------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all give a collective bow of gratitude to Mr. Toriyama for DBS!!!!!  
> (posted this chapter today in honor of episode one airing on 07/05/15 in Japan).


	4. Combat Contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody fight!  
> Tonight's match-ups:  
> Gohan vs. Videl,  
> Krillin vs. Eighteen,  
> Vegeta vs. Trunks,  
> Bulma vs. Vegeta Round Two
> 
> Get your money ready, place your bets!

Videl’s mind hummed with thousands of hurts unspoken. Earlier today, she was demoted to referee. That’s what happened. Videl effing Satan sat on the sidelines, out there in the desert, like she wasn’t stronger than both Chi-Chi and Bulma combined! Everyone on the ship admonished and shamed her out of sparring this afternoon. Videl was forced to bite her tongue, in order to avoid a fight, when all she wanted to do was fight! Tomorrow, Chi-Chi and Bulma were training in the time chamber! Something Videl always wanted to do! She couldn’t handle it anymore. What happened to Videl Satan? She remembered barging down Chi-Chi’’s door to cuss her out, years ago. Videl wasn’t Gohan’s wife just because she was pretty and rich, damn it. And she wasn’t some wife to stand barefoot and pregnant cooking him dinner, either. 

Wearing her favorite, most comfortable shoes, Videl paced her formal dining room, surveying the catered feast. Gohan’s first day of real training in years was sure to leave him starving. She asked her father’s chefs over tonight to whip up a feast as though they were cooking for Buu; except she asked for all Gohan’s favorites. She took long oval turns around their dining table. The caterers added an extension to it, so all the food could be displayed at once. Videl checked each plate and portion. She could feel Gohan’s ki and knew he was approaching. Not at top speed, just casually flying, perhaps getting a bit of a rest on his way home, letting the cool air comfort his sore muscles. She didn’t begrudge him that.

But Videl wanted him here now. Tapping her foot, she couldn’t wait to talk to him about all this. Or yell at him about it, depending on how he responded to the topic of Bulma and Chi-Chi’s fight. Gohan better choose his words carefully tonight. 

“How crazy was that?!” Gohan exclaimed, happily mawing away at his food, “I’m so glad you weren’t fighting with them today!” He didn’t notice the change in her expression. 

“I heard you were concerned,” she deadpanned, setting her fork down. The upper half of her face darkened to shadow, waves of ki emanating off her forehead. Heat rose in her throat, hurt burned her eyelids. 

“Oh yeah?” he mouthed over a big gulp of juice. Then noticed her energy and recognized she might be disgusted at his rude lack of table manners. He quickly apologized, “All this training, I haven’t done it like this in years. Works up a heck of an appetite!” He smiled genuine appreciation at his wife. This did nothing to improve her aura. 

“Goten mentioned it,” she glared away, looking out the window. 

“The boys were excited to see mom and Bulma fight,” Gohan swallowed another mouthful, “but Vegeta forbade them.” He slurped down a massive bowl of soup, “He was really mad. I think Dad talked him down,” and Gohan got up from the table to refill the pitcher of water he’d been gulping. 

Videl’s eyebrow twitched. She stood as well, walked to the window. Her toe resumed tapping to free some pent up energy, threatening to explode. Her baby bump was barely there at this point, but again, she felt the flicker of ki like the baby wanted to fight as much as Mama did. Looking out the window at the busy Central City street below, cars jockeyed for position and swerved to miss pedestrians. Meanwhile, hover-cyclists assertively cut through the chaos of rush hour. Everywhere she looked, since Bulma’s big idea, Videl saw battles she couldn't join. 

Well, there was one fight that was all hers.

“Would you have _forbid_ me to participate?” she said in a voice more casual than she thought she could manage, not turning to look at him.  
Gohan looked up from his tenth empty plate. Her back was turned to him, her shoulders tense, hands gripping the windowsill. Oh crap. What had he done wrong? Her question didn’t make sense. 

“Forbid you?” he asked, not meaning to sound innocent, but more concerned. He actually wanted to get to the root of her problem. He stood up and pushed his chair back underneath the table, but didn’t approach her yet. It was her move. 

“You said Vegeta forbade the boys from watching Bulma and Chi-Chi’s fight. Why did he do that?” 

“I don’t know. Dad didn’t talk about it afterward. Like I said, Vegeta was mad as hell.” He took a cautious step toward her and chanced a joke: “But does he ever need a reason?” Gohan heard her snort in response, but her shoulders remained tense. He didn’t move any closer. 

“Would you be as angry if I’d been sparring too?” 

“I didn’t even consider it,” Gohan answered with genuine honesty, “I mean, you’re pregnant…” he took another cautious step towards her. 

“I’m not disabled!” she wheeled on him, “Plenty of professional athletes continue their training and even compete while pregnant!” This was canon fodder she intended to use with her father, Bulma’s father, and both the older women earlier today. But she didn’t have an opportunity, without being rude to her hosts. Plus, she was super outnumbered on the ship. Here, in the safety of her own home, Videl was determined to win. 

Gohan took a deep breath in and held it. There were so many, many ways he could screw this up. Watching his parents fight when he was a kid, he remembered how hard his father used to put his big foot in his big mouth all the time; saying exactly the wrong thing. Gohan did his best not to be so dense with his own wife. Yet for some reason, perhaps fatigue and fullness, his gut reaction sighed out with his breath: “We’re not professional athletes anymore, Videl.” 

“SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!” she roared. Breathing in huffs, it felt good to finally get some release for her anger. Even the ki in her uterus calmed down. She stomped forward and dodged to go around him towards the kitchen, make a victory march and leave him in stunned silence, alone. But he knew that game. He stepped in front of her and they did this little dance back and forth. She gave an exaggerated growl of frustration, throwing her hands up and turning back towards the window. “There’s no excuse for you, or Vegeta, or my dad, or anyone to make such a big deal out of this!” 

He didn’t want to dive down that rabbit hole, just yet, so he responded to the ‘professional athlete’ part instead. “I just meant, we haven’t been training for a few years, love,” he put his hands gently on her shoulders, “you may still be a badass, but you’re not a pro anymore, not after so long out of the dojo.” His hands stroked down softly from her shoulders to elbows. “Neither of us are up to our former fighting selves. I promise, that’s all I meant by it.”

Videl couldn’t be wooed by his soft tone and softer hands. Kais, even after fighting all day, his palms were soft! He really had been out of the game for a while. No. He wasn’t charming his way out of this. She shook him off and bowed up at him, on her tip toes, poking him in the chest with a finger.  
“So, _you_ get to train and get your mojo back!? But I don’t?!” 

Gohan recognized a trap, a dangerous situation brewing. He tried to change tactics, distract from the core of the issue: “Well, you already exercise more than I do. I mean, you work out with your personal trainer every day.”

“Don’t give me that crap, mister track suit! You go running every day!” Videl wouldn't let him get around the issue. No distractions. “I want to know why you just said what you said.” Hearing his words in her mind: 'I’m glad you weren’t fighting with them today!’ in that cheerful, clueless voice of his, made Videl suck in a breath with a hitch in her throat. 

Gohan hated that sound. It was so rare coming from her. Usually, she made that sound when she was mad at her father. He hated to be the source of her painful frustration. He racked his brain:  
“That you’re doing all those workouts and stuff lately?” 

“No! Don’t pretend you're so dense!”

Gohan sighed. He was botching this all up. He was normally much better at debating her, or calming her down, whatever she needed from him. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones? Or maybe he was too exhausted from the day? The food was quickly settling with coma-inducing heaviness in his stomach. His eyes, wordless and helpless, bore into Videl’s. Gohan only wanted to establish that he was sorry for making her angry, cared for her, and wanted to help her feel better. Out of ideas, he tried to hug her. 

She shrugged out of his reach, “Get off! You’re not listening!” She again tried and failed to sidestep around him, “I don’t need affection!” 

Gohan’s heart stung at being pushed away. He wouldn’t get mad about it, like a certain part of his mind wanted. That familiar strip of Saiyan pride near the base of his skull flared up at her challenge. He even heard the Saiyan answer: ‘If you don’t need affection, it seems I can’t help you. Leave me to eat dinner in peace!’ For some reason, that part of his mind always sounded like Vegeta. He forced it back. Instead remembering all the times he had to calm his mom down, when he wanted to solve her problems. What she really needed, most often, was to vent and rage at someone- and his father wasn’t around to take the heat. That would have to work!  
“Videl, please, just tell me how you feel, and why, love,” his face was genuinely sad, “I know you’re upset because of something I said. And I’m sorry I don’t know what it was or why,” he closed the distance and placed his hands on her upper arms, gently rubbing, ““Please tell me. I love you and I hate seeing you hurt like this!”

She burst into tears. 

Gohan’s sincere sweetness always caught her off guard! Videl flopped down in her chair, so exhausted and frustrated, but so, so happy. And freaking pissed at being happy! Why did he have to be the best husband ever all the damn time? She wanted to attack him like the boorish oaf the other men in her life could be. But then he always goes and surprises her. Being all sensitive! Saying exactly what she needs to hear! Gohan wasn’t his father or her father or Vegeta. He was his own man. He was a man totally capable of just wanting to _listen_ to her when she needed him to. 

“I want to fight, Gohan!” she mewled through ugly, hormonal, tears. Wiping snot from her nose, “I want to spar and maintain my skills as a fighter and you’re right, I’ve been out of the professional circuit for a while, and it’s not fair…” then she remembered what she was really angry about! Gathering herself up and squaring her shoulders, her chin spun up at him.

 _Here it comes,_ Gohan braced himself. 

“I want to know why you just said ‘I’m so glad you weren’t fighting with them today!’,” looking into him with stern eyes. Her arms crossed and the rest of her body turned to face him in her chair. “Tell me why you said that, Gohan.”

“I…” Gohan stammered at first. His hand went to the back of his neck. Stalling: “What did I say exactly? I was eating and tired...uh…”

“You said: ‘I’m _so glad_ you weren’t fighting with them today!’’,” and she made an attempt to speak his therapy-like language from earlier: “That really hurt my feelings because I wanted to fight with Bulma and Chi-Chi today.” Then her voice pitched angrier, standing up with squinting eyes. “So. Tell me why you said that!” 

Oh. Danggit. There’s no getting out of this one. He IS so glad she wasn’t fighting today. But she’s so upset. Why did he say that? Oh yeah! 

“I only said it because you’re pregnant, love! That’s the only reason, I swear. If you weren’t pregnant, I would’ve been down there cheering you on! You would’ve kicked both their asses for sure.” He could feel the smile on his face was big and dumb like his father’s. So he tried to tone it down. He was being sincere. The only reason he cared at all was his fear of something going wrong with the pregnancy, either her or the baby getting hurt, that's all. 

Videl expected this answer; it was the same answer everyone had. But earlier today, she wasn’t given the opportunity to use the responses she stored up. He’d argued the professional athlete point already. Let’s get a bit more specific. 

“Gohan, this baby helped create a Super Saiyan God. I think it can handle a little sparring,” she stood up, close to him, hand on his forearm, and gave him a soft laugh, “It’s not like Chi-Chi or Bulma would have punched me in the stomach!” 

The mental image was too much for Gohan. 

“You don’t know that!” He blurted and waved his arms, perhaps too wildly, too much like he was trying to intimidate her. The image of her body with their baby inside doubled over someone’s fist triggered a hyper protective energy he didn’t even know he had. Recognizing it, he tucked his hands in his armpits and began pacing, his voice that of Professor Son to his students. She could almost see his glasses on his face, rather than on the bedside table where he’d left them this morning. “Mom and Bulma weren’t messing around,” turning on his heel and pacing the other way. “In the heat of the moment,” turning, “especially if you knee them in the gut or something,” turning again, “they’re going to react to any opening they see!” Turning to face her, coming up and resting his hands on her hips, “That’s just the nature of the fight, love!”

“Don’t lecture me on the nature of fighting, mister!” Gone. Videl was beyond incensed. This was what she wanted. To have it out with someone over this stupid issue and Gohan picked the short straw. “YOUR only _actual_ training was with Piccolo and I don’t consider him any sort of Master!” When Gohan opened his mouth to protest, she stamped her foot: “He had you doing wilderness survival, for heaven’s sake! Don’t tell me you’ve got some fighting knowhow that I don’t!” She pushed off of his chest with both hands, more to propel herself away from him than anything. His alien-blooded immovability- even at the strength of her in a rage- angered Videl further. She swatted one of the stupid banquet table chairs and it cracked and clattered a good five feet down the row of chairs, knocking them all over and breaking most of them. 

“Babe, come on…” Gohan didn’t like this destruction of property. It was irrational and unlike Videl. Plus, that angry Saiyan pride was surging against his best efforts to contain it. He could handle her insults, but jabs at Piccolo were uncalled for. He was struggling to maintain his composure and her rage wasn't over yet. She kicked the final standing chair and it splintered into oblivion as she roared: 

“What the fuck does that mean?! ‘Babe, come on’? Really?! I’m not wrong! I’ve been trained by _real_ masters my whole life. Sure, they don’t know ki blasts, but they knew battle tactics and prepared me for what it would really be like, unlike any training you ever got! You weren’t prepared for the heat of real battle, so Piccolo had to die to protect you!” 

Oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit. Did she really just say that? Oh shit. But she didn’t back down. Just stared up at him, paralyzed by her own words, really. 

Gohan’s chest rose and fell with the pain he inhaled and exhaled in harsh short breaths through flared nostrils. His brow bunched up. His eyes glistened. Those were old scars and deep ones. A few nights, just a few, over the years of their relationship, he’d woken up in a sweat next to Videl from nightmares reliving all the times his childhood fear and inexperience on the battlefield cost his friends and loved ones their lives. It wasn’t just Piccolo. How many people died or were severely wounded protecting him? His father, gone throughout his teenage years and Goten’s early childhood, because Gohan couldn’t bring himself to kill Cell when he had the chance.

All that had nothing to do with his training. Videl was wrong. He told her as much, his eyes more sad than angry. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t improper training.”

His nightmares ended as the battles always did back then, with him unleashing a berserk fury of extreme power. Gohan’s overwhelming ki was more terrifying than even the deaths caused by not acting sooner. When he was much younger, he often couldn't remember what happened after he powered up. Everyone told him stories of his amazing strength defeating enemies when all seemed lost; how he’d always pass out, unconscious, afterward. Like when he attacked Radditz. He woke up to find his father dead and Piccolo abandoning him in the wilderness. No, the nightmares weren’t about the deaths of his protectors. The terror in the depths of Gohan was the heat of his own power overwhelming his mind, scorching his heart, making him someone else, changing his very DNA.  
It wasn’t his unconventional training. It was his own damnable nature, a pure berserker, through and through. Terrified of losing control like Bruce Banner, unstoppable once he did, like the Hulk. Today, hours ago, watching Goten and Trunks with their bravado and confidence… it cut him a little each time. They could have fought his childhood battles and won. Hell, for all he knew his unborn baby was going to be a better, more confident fighter than he ever was! He balled a fist. He wasn’t angry at Videl or her words anymore, but with himself, so he turned away and punched his fist into his opposite palm with a violent smack.

Videl sucked in her lips between her teeth. Damn.  
“Gohan, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” his back sighed and fell, “I know you’re not stupid and you know the risks and you wouldn’t do anything to hurt our child. I know there are professional athletic women who train and compete while pregnant. I just…” he made a noise like a caged animal, defeated, but still angry, “I guess I never pictured you as one of them.” He realized his clenched muscles were quivering and he reached for a chair to sit down, only to find them all crushed and broken. He paced away from her and rested a hand on the opposite wall to ground himself. “That expectation is my fault. I didn’t realize I even felt that way. When you got pregnant, I only pictured you as my pregnant mother. She treated pregnancy very traditionally and would never dream of doing anything but cook, clean, sleep, eat, or just sit in a quiet room reading for nine months.”

“Which isn’t much different than her typical day, anyway,” Videl tried to joke.

“I know.” He put his face in his hands for a moment. Videl came up behind him and squeezed one shoulder. He looked back at her, “I was judging you, my wife, based on expectations I got from watching my pregnant mom nine years ago. That was wrong and I’m sorry. If you think you can fight safely while pregnant then I need to trust you.” He quirked a small smile, “Exercise is supposed to be good for pregnant ladies, anyway, right?”

“Oh, Gohan,” she stepped against his back, molding herself to it, arms curling comfort about his waist. “I’m so sorry. Those were low blows and they weren’t for you. I should have lobbed those grenades at the people who really pissed me off earlier today. But you became their stand-in because you were here; and you would listen; and earlier none of them would! I was outnumbered and it was awful!” 

He turned around, arms overlapping hers, not breaking the embrace. Videl loved how his body moved like a dancer, sometimes, so smooth and swift, one of the many benefits of his heritage.  
“Hang on a sec, love,” Gohan kissed the crown of her head and removed one hand from embracing her to reach into his pocket and grab his cell phone. He hit a well-worn button to speed dial the only person who could help his wife out in this situation.  
“Hey Bulma,” he chirped, making Videl scoff, slapping his arms. How dare he call _her_ right now? Come on! 

But when her husband’s conversation ended, Videl was kissing every inch of flesh she could reach on his gorgeous face. Her lips tracked lower to his neck, collarbone and partially exposed shoulders. He tasted like the fight. He was sweat and food and fire. He was hers. His one-sided smirk lit up his eyes with mischief when he quipped,  
“Happy now?” while grazing his fingers over her hips. 

“Happy!? I can’t believe you!” She hopped up and down in his arms, gleeful like a little girl, “I was so jealous of their fight today, I planned on skipping the next round all together. Now, I can’t wait for Bulma and Chi-Chi’s rematch! Thank you Gohan!”

“Hmph?” he smiled, lowering his head to kiss her, “Apology accepted, then?” 

She laughed and put up fruitless struggles in his grasp, “Of course! I should be apologizing to you!” 

He nibbled on her ear lobe, “I’m ready when you are.” 

Videl kissed him like the hero he was. 

Gohan had, once again, saved the day. 

—————————

“Whoa!” Krillin barely dodged a blast from Eighteen, smiling up with huntress eyes below him. 

“Not bad, Krillin,” she crooned, her cool composure taunting him like siren song. He felt Eighteen’s arrogant aura. The same intoxication that enveloped him all those years ago when she planted that random kiss on his forehead. The same strength as her digits digging into the meat of his shoulders late in the night, urging him on.

He dived after that feeling. He’d chase it anywhere. She dodged the obvious kick and Krillin swung himself behind her to clamp his arms around her torso, under her armpits. He managed one leg hooking her upper thigh to pin her in the air. The sweep of her free leg was deadly as the heel kicked backward, but thank the Kais, landed hard in his shin. Eighteen turned her head just enough so he can see the crystal of her eye as she smirked:  
“That could have been your crotch.” 

He anticipated her turning to face him and deliberately broke the hold. Before another superiority-soaked word could escape his wife, Krillin’s fingers splayed to either side of his forehead. The one move Eighteen has no defense against: “Solar Flare!!!”

She let out a strangled cry that startled him. But the sound didn't prevent his upper cut to her ribs or a quick dodge out of the blind blow she hurled to retaliate. Another smash of his fist to her ribs from the opposite side this time, and her roar of pain stopped every set of combatants in the desert, all turning to look. She rubbed her eyes and flailed away, trying to connect a blow on her husband who looked quite natural dodging the attacks. Krillin drew back to punch her in the face, but held his fist still. He wouldn’t deliver the knockout blow. 

“Do it, Krillin!” a pained cackle from her throat echoed across the landscape. Eighteen won every match between them since two days ago when she first blasted him in the back upon leaving Bulma’s ship. It was so bad the others refused to spar with Krillin until he could beat his wife. There was a betting pool and everything. It infuriated Eighteen. There was nothing she hated more than her husband as the object of ridicule. Even if she was stronger and he couldn't beat her outright, she knew he was holding back. His stupid sensitivities! Eighteen wouldn't allow him to be the butt of the others' jokes anymore. He was stronger than all of them, except the aliens. She wheezed for only him to hear: “Your cheap shot with that eye shit is the only chance you’ve got to beat me! _Do it._ ” 

Krillin smiled. “Knowing I could knock you out right now is enough, darling,” and he reached to embrace her, his other hand digging into his pocket for a senzu bean. 

“Don’t settle for second place, EVER!” Eighteen shouted as the faintest hint of her sight returned and the back of her fist connected to crush his nose. 

Fortunately for Krillin, he doesn’t have a nose. “If that’s the way you want it,” he chuckled, punching her hard in the kidney. When she doubled over, his hand clamped around her neck. He broke the senzu bean in half, forced one piece into her mouth. Krillin felt her chew and swallow, the mash rolling down her throat beneath his gripping palm. As it healed her ribs and kidney, Krillin charged up and body slammed her into the ground, dozens of feet below. 

When the smoke settled, Krillin was at her side, at the bottom of the crater they made, cradling her upper body in his arms. Earth’s strongest human male smiled a half-lidded, dopey grin as Earth’s strongest sort-of human female coughed up blood, calling him a “Sexy little shit.” Then he gave her the second half of the bean. After a few tense moments, her spine healed and she reached up to pull his face down. Eighteen kissed Krillin with genuine pride. 

"Much better," she rumbled, as he broke away slowly, "I was getting tired of you embarrassing us." 

Before he could answer, he noticed the other Z warriors gathered around the rim of their crater. 

“Twenty zeni on two days,” Yamcha laughed, waving a green bill in the air, “Who had two days for Krillin to beat Eighteen?”” Piccolo snatched the note from Yamcha’s hand. 

“So, that’s Eighteen and I, then,” Piccolo commented to one of the others. 

“I’ve got Krillin,” Tien laughed, “though it doesn’t seem fair now that he can beat Eighteen.”

“It should be the two of you versus the two of them,” Gohan slapped Piccolo and Tien on their shoulder blades. “They’ve been fighting each other for two days. Let’s see if they can pull off a co-op upset?” 

Eighteen and Krillin flew upwards to glare with cocky smiles at their sparring partners, fingers intertwined in clasped hands. 

—————————————

Trunks and Vegeta missed this spectacle. They were flying casually to the desert, a tense silence between them. Finally, Trunks cleared his throat beside his father. 

“Dad, I want to go see mom fight today. Can I?” before Vegeta could answer, Trunks quickly blurted: “I promise to train extra hard to make up for the lost time!”” 

Vegeta knew this was coming. He was frustrated the brat took so long to finally ask. He didn’t want to discuss this topic around the others, so he wasted all this time flying slowly in silence until Trunks finally piped up about it.  
“I don't understand you, brat." Vegeta grumbled, "You were distraught over your mother's training in the time chamber yesterday. But last night you let her off so easily!” He snorted with his decision made, "No. I will not reward your disgraceful lack of pride."

Trunks' small chest swelled up. His voice defensive: “Yeah, I didn’t like it yesterday, but she seems to enjoy it, right?” Vegeta tsked. Trunks exhaled and tried again. “And we’ve got senzu beans, you know?” His father remained nonplussed. Reaching the limit of his negotiation abilities, Trunks downgraded to childish begging, in a nasally pitch: “I want to watch her fight Goten’s mom! Dad… please?! Why does her fighting bother you so much?!” 

Vegeta was caught off guard by the question. But he answered honestly. 

“I can count on one hand the occasions your mother was intentionally injured in my presence,” Vegeta began, though he didn’t believe he needed to explain himself to a child. Perhaps this was one of those damn 'teachable moments' Bulma always rattled on about.

“Before the serum she made.” Trunks finished his father's thought.

“Exactly. You were with us the last time.” It was uncomfortable to talk to his son in this fashion. But Vegeta was curious about the brat’s response to the argument last night. Truthfully, he felt Bulma winning Trunks over to her side was a blow too many. She deliberately wounded him by making this serum behind his back. Now she’d turned his son against him. Outnumbering the woman was one of their favorite pass times. She wouldn’t get away with stealing his backup so easily. 

“Yeah. I remember.” Trunks groaned, “You tried to keep Lord Beerus happy and entertained all day, then mom slapped him. When he hit mom back and knocked her out, you lost your shit. It was awesome! I thought you could really beat the crap out of him!” 

Vegeta ignored the cuss words because he never understood why Bulma and the other Earth women were so offended by them, “That is the appropriate reaction when your mother is assaulted. Destroy her attacker.” 

“Except now…” Trunks’ brow furrowed, putting the pieces together, “she’s hurting herself,” his eyes widened, “and you _can’t_ beat the crap out of her for it?”

Vegeta sighed. The reasoning sounded so juvenile coming from Trunks’ young voice. It wasn't that simple. Kais, no, he wasn't so childish as that! Vegeta clenched his teeth in troubled thought. His silence spurred on Trunks’ deductions. 

“But you beat her up pretty good last night!” 

Vegeta wheeled on him midair. 

“How dare…?!”

Trunks dodged the blow he thought must be coming. “Mom was _crying_ when I got in there, Dad” the words tumbled out as he cowered back from his father’s anger, making sure he was understood: “That means you hurt her, right? I mean, it looked like you won the fight to me!” 

“It wasn’t about winn…” Vegeta’s voice stopped in his throat as a tumult of realizations hit him. He was lying to the boy. He remembered how satisfied he was to hear Bulma’s tears last night. Shit, even this conversation with the brat was about winning. Damn it all! 

Trunks saw the calculations passing before his father’s eyes and took his chance. “So, things should be cool now, right? And I can go watch her fight Goten’s mom?”  
Vegeta stood still in midair, looking away at nothing.  
Trunks tried again. “I mean, you got your revenge on the person that was hurting mom… you made _her_ cry… that ought to be enough for things to be settled, right?” Then his little brow crinkled so that he wore the same expression as his father. “Wait…” Trunks considered, “But now YOU hurt her last night because she’d been hurting herself… so now do you have to beat the crap out of yourself?”

Air escaped Vegeta’s clenched teeth in a frustrated sound between a sigh and a growl.

Trunks looked up into his father’s severe eyes. Vegeta’s gaze was somehow gratifying The child swallowed a big knot in his throat he'd held without realizing. Vegeta assessed him from head to toe, as if looking at his son anew. Exhaling one final time, Vegeta fixed the boy with his stare in earnest.

“Verbal sparring is a skill every bit as important as physical sparring,” he began, “And it’s clearly an area your mother and I have been lax in your training,” Vegeta swallowed. This was going to be a long day. He was not good at apologies. “You may not have intended to argue with me this morning,” he reconsidered, “In fact, I can tell you didn’t. But you can claim this victory: you’re right, I deliberately hurt your mother last night and so I should be beating myself up.” 

Trunks thought about it for a moment. Years later, he’d remember this conversation as the first time his father ever told him he was right about anything.  
“It’s okay Dad, you guys always forgive each other. I mean, you’re good at hurting one another’s feelings. I thought it was something you liked doing!”

Vegeta snorted and smirked. Trunks beamed at having made his father laugh. 

“Yes, we enjoy verbal sparring very much, but sparring is supposed to be training, not the real thing." Vegeta's teeth ground and his jaw clicked. Trunks would eventually recognize it as a sign his father was internally berating himself. "Last night was the real thing, so I have to apologize to your mother. Do you understand?" Trunks nodded, a bit sheepish. Vegeta tsked, but his chin returned the nod with gratitude, "You were brave to question me about it.”

Trunks' hand flung to the back of his head. Laughing and trying very hard to conceal the blush rising from his chest to his ears. He was not used to his father's praise. “Yeah, haha, all I wanted was to convince you to let me see the fight today!” 

“Consider me convinced.” 

“Really?! Thanks, so much!!!” Trunks dove in to hug him and stopped just short of his father’s torso, embarrassed. But Vegeta pulled him in the rest of the way. It was a brief, one-armed embrace, much like the only other hug he’d ever received… before his dad knocked him out! On instinct, the muscles around Trunks’ neck and shoulders clenched, preparing for a blow. He felt his father’s chest rise in another snorting laugh. 

“I’m not going to knock you out. Just get down there and do your routines with Goten. I don’t think your mother’s fight will commence for some hours now.” 

“Will you come with me to watch?” 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Take Goten. He can see his mother win at something for once.” 

“Aw dad! You don’t think mom’s gonna win?” 

“Not a shot in hell.”

“Why not?”

“You should have learned by now that strength only gets you so far.”

“Right. Mom’s got no experience.” 

“Exactly.”

———————————————

“Out.” Vegeta ordered the other women, who- indignant- turned to Bulma for confirmation. She nodded. Once they left the ship’s impromptu changing room, Bulma charged him, finger pointing as though she could drill it through his skull. 

“You better not be here to spew more of your hyper-macho bullshit! I’m fighting today, no matter what!” 

Vegeta rose to the challenge, puffing up to counter, but then deflated, his eyes stubborn: “Quite the opposite. I…” He had to look at her when he said the word, otherwise this was not sincere enough, “… _apologize_ for my attack last night.”

Bulma was taken aback. Her finger fell. The point curled into a quizzical fist that she now held before her, between them, but didn’t know what to do with. When the shock wore off, she fought an urge to sucker-hug the wind right out of him. Besides the relief of not dragging out this idiotic argument for another effing second, Bulma understood the gravity of a Vegeta apology. That he ceded defeat so soon after declaring possession of the supposed moral high ground, holy crap! This was a trip. But, Bulma would not let him off so easily. Praising the stupid Saiyan for apologizing would only reinforce bad behavior. Bulma put her boss face on.  
“I appreciate that." She imagined him some subordinate who just fessed up to plugging in the wrong formula and wasting a day of everyone’s time on bad results. Ha. It wasn't so far from the truth. Vegeta knew that tone and cleared his throat. He wouldn't take _all_ the blame.

He arched an accusatory brow at her, “Your actions affected me more than I presume you intended," he paused, but before she could interject, "However, my reaction was just as,” he seemed to roll the word around in his mind, “childish.”

“You’re damn right!" her pointing finger reemerged, "You sounded more like Trunks last night!” 

"Hmph. Indeed." He idly looked down at his upturned hand as he flexed and balled the fingers, "I realized as much when discussing my... tactics... with him this morning.”

“You…” Bulma eyed him, “talked about this with _Trunks?_ ”

“I was trapped in a conversation, yes.” Vegeta’s lip curled up in a tsk of annoyance, and he leaned back against the wall, looking up at her, “He can’t wait to cheer you on this afternoon and felt he needed my permission.”

“Well? Didn’t he?” Bulma's cross-arm stance seemed more threatening to him in her new sparring jumpsuit, not unlike the one he wore beneath his armor. There was a tick of arousal he had to restrain, seeing her like this, her muscles defined and stretching for a fight. As such, his voice came out much more pleasant, almost amused, than he'd intended:

“You know that brat will do whatever he wants, regardless.” 

Bulma fumed. Attacks on her were fine, but their son was innocent in all this. “Please! He knew how important this was to you!" She turned away. "He’s sensitive to stuff like that.”

“Unlike his mother.” Vegeta couldn’t resist the jab. He hoped she’d counter. But when Bulma whipped around in anger, she saw the eagerness spark in his expression and chose not to give him the satisfaction. She went back to the task at hand. 

“You’re right, of course, I was childish. I should never have done this behind your back,” she sat on the bed and then flopped flat back with a sigh, legs hanging off the end, hands behind her head. Looking up at the ceiling, she contemplated everyone's reactions this week, not just Vegeta's. “My father was pissed I used our resources on such a dangerous whim, and angrier still that I used myself as a test subject,” she turned her head to look at Vegeta with a smile, “without giving him a chance to play along, of course.” 

“Exactly.” Vegeta groused. “The dishonesty... that you'd put yourself in danger without telling me," he looked away, considering, "I suppose the danger part itself isn't so distressing. I know you can handle it."

"Oh really? You sure threw that shit in my face!" Bulma rose and beat the bed with her fist, "Like you assholes don't go off trying to get yourselves killed every damn day!" 

"Yes. I see the parallel. I'm not a fool." Vegeta barked, his left foot bent up and flat against the wall like he might launch off it. "All you had to do was not make your serum some clandestine secret mission.”

“Fine!” Bulma sassed. “I admit you and Trunks shouldn't have been surprised by all this. And Dad probably could have made the serum safer. But I kept him totally in the dark until my first trial." Bulma realized she was talking mostly to herself. “Mom didn’t say she was upset, but I can always tell.” To Bulma’s surprise, Vegeta nodded. 

“I noticed she didn’t pour your coffee the other morning.”

“She might as well have slapped me in the face.”

Vegeta’s eyebrows rose in acknowledgment. He was glued to his spot, Bulma noticed, as if afraid- no never- _unsure_ whether he should make a move to either leave the room or close the distance between them. She made up his mind for him by rising and taking a step forward. His shoulders relaxed.  
Swallowing once, he offered: “I suppose my argument was a slap in the face as well?”

“Yes. You really know how to hurt a girl!” she shoved at him and his shoulders re-tensed, his solid body rejecting her playfulness. Pressing on: “I had no defense once you used Trunks against me.”

His eyes closed and he turned his head. Seeing that broadside of his cheek for the millionth time, Bulma noticed the very corner of his mouth ticked down in his Saiyan version of bashful acceptance. “That was below the belt,” he ceded. 

“I should be madder at you. I should hate you for reacting the way you did.”

His face grimaced at the word ‘hate’. His jaw worked. “Here,” her hands on his shoulders, his face turned to meet hers, “How about this?" She locked his eyes, "I fucked up, you fucked up, we both get it and we’re both sorry, right?” 

He shifted in discomfort. “That is why I am here, yes.” 

“Okay then,” she stepped back and extended her hand, “Friends?” 

He looked down at the hand with a mocking expression. Then surprised her by taking it with force and pulling her to him for a quick, closed-mouth kiss, his other hand pressed between her shoulder blades, finger tips kneading once, twice. A spider web of chills snaked into her lower back. When he pulled away slowly he paused for her to open her eyes. His lower lids squinted with the question: “Forgiven?” 

“On the count of three?” Not wanting to be the first to officially say it, knowing he felt the same. Vegeta smirked and nodded. And they counted off, in whispers, eyes glinting and challenging and loving one another, then in unison: 

“Forgiven.” 

His curt nod put the matter to rest and he turned and left her alone in the room.

Bulma didn't know whether to feel emboldened by this resolution or to mourn the loss of her anger at Vegeta. The simmering energy had coiled ready to strike all morning and she couldn't wait to take it out on Chi-Chi. She supposed, now, the fight might be fairer. She smirked. Unless Goku did something stupid last night, too! If she was honest with herself, Bulma still had a few choice words for Vegeta. Perhaps those could yet be honed in the ring? Only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it took me like nine months (and four other stories' worth of distractions and plot bunnies) to get this one out! I promise not to leave you wanting like that again, my lovely, beloved readers. I've got the next chapter going and two new stories on the burners, simmering for your pleasure. Hugs and love, ~Sintina


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